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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652052">and there you were</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBeltanesPast/pseuds/GhostofBeltanesPast'>GhostofBeltanesPast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pining Fools [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Time, Fluff, M/M, One Night Stands, Summer Solstice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:55:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBeltanesPast/pseuds/GhostofBeltanesPast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot, filling in Pelna's first summer solstice tryst, as mentioned in chapter 9 of Returning the Favor.</p><p>[Please note this fic involves two teenagers making out, and boner mentions. No explicit sex. Pelna is 16 and Nyx is 17.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pelna Khara/Nyx Ulric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pining Fools [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and there you were</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pelna smooths the fabric of his tunic, a mostly-futile effort to dispel the jitters that feel like they’ll shake him apart from the inside out. It’s not like he’s never watched the festivities from a distance, or anything, and he’s sat around the bonfires as long as he was allowed to stay up, but he’s finally sixteen. He’s old enough to make his own wreath…<br/><br/>...and he’s old enough that someone <em> might </em> just claim it. <br/><br/>The thought leaves him breathless. It’s a longshot, probably, and he’s not even sure who he’d <em> want </em> to claim it -- well, no, that’s a lie. He knows exactly who he’d want, but it’s a long shot. <br/><br/>Besides, nearly every girl -- and not just the girls -- from the surrounding villages have their eyes on the same prize. <br/><br/>Still, each time he catches those cloud-grey eyes on him, it sends a jolt of longing through his slim body; he’s still growing into himself, unlike the others. Libertus is the oldest, so it makes sense he’d be the first to have a proper beard, and fill out, but Nyx shot up overnight...and then again...and again, and even if he’s still not quite done filling out, lanky and perpetually-hungry in that growing-teenager kind of way Asteria clucks over constantly, he’s tall and lean and strong and <em> gorgeous </em> ...and Astrals, Pelna would give almost anything if Nyx would just give him a chance. Just this once, even. It would be enough. <br/><br/>He’s woven his wreath with little blossoms -- unlike most of the girls, who often favor bigger, colorful blooms to catch the eye, he’s only got one person whose eye he wants to catch...and his wreath stands out in its own way. <br/><br/>Of course, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t do it in part because it’ll be harder to catch. Everyone knows how much Nyx likes a challenge (not that Pelna’s any different, in truth), and he grins nervously as he reaches up to unclasp his chain. It takes a couple of tries to figure out how to wrap it properly; one of the older girls steps in to help, her neatly-manicured fingers guiding his to twine the fine chain around the bundled stems. <br/><br/>“Like this,” she coos, and maybe it’s not entirely his imagination that there’s a blush on her cheeks when he tilts his head back to look at her and finds her entirely too close… <br/><br/>Tonight, though, he’s not here for the catching. He’s here to be caught, if he’s lucky. To be <em> wooed </em> , and she’ll have to wait til another year if she’s got an interest. <br/><br/>She steps back and eyes the boys who are still lingering nearby, though, making him cover the laugh hastily with a cough. Maybe she’s here to be caught by whoever’s willing to give chase...and there’s nothing wrong with that, either. The festival is for everyone to enjoy, after all, and her enjoyment is just as valid. <br/><br/>His heart is hammering in his chest as he steps down the muddy banks into the water, placing the wreath carefully down. Of course, he practiced in the last few months, to make sure that a thinner wreath would still float just fine...and of course it does, but he doesn’t let go right away, just in case. With one forefinger, he keeps it in place as the water flows around it. To make sure, he tells himself. It’s not because he’s scared to let go, or scared that no one will want it. He’s not scared at all. <br/><br/>No way. <br/><br/>But he can’t stand here forever. People are starting to stare -- wondering if he’ll chicken out, maybe, and he can’t have that. He can hear the others behind him muttering, and the Elder closest clears her throat… <br/><br/>...he lets go. <br/><br/>Normally, any other year, he’d climb up into the trees with Crowe and Selena and the others, and watch the fun; this year, though, it doesn’t quite feel right. He doesn’t want to spectate, and the idea of being able to see what’s happening downriver makes him feel a bit sick to his stomach. If his wreath went ignored, if no one wanted it -- if no one wanted <em> him </em> -- he’s not sure he could take that. Not seeing it happen, anyway. <br/><br/>Instead, he turns his back to the river, and wanders off toward the fire. <br/><br/>A nice cup of tea will distract him, and right now distraction is exactly what he needs. It’ll be a few minutes until the first wreaths get past the rapids and into deeper waters, and getting back means a walk along the winding banks, so he’s got a while before he’ll find out. <br/><br/>Far from being comforting, that thought makes the lack of an answer all the more oppressive. <br/><br/>He’s never really been the patient type, more interested in taking action, and having to sit and wait… <br/><br/>As he passes, his mother lays a hand on his shoulder briefly, making him pause. <br/><br/>“It’ll be alright, dear. You’ll see.” <br/><br/>From across the fire, Asteria gives him a look that’s much too knowing for his comfort. She smiles, too, and shares a glance with his mother. They’re both settled, no interest in wooing, but Pelna’s heard plenty of tales about what they got up to when they were his age -- often cautionary ones, most of which the adults in the village can recite from memory after hearing them told so many times around fires just like this one. Their assurances mean more than anyone’s, and not just because he’s so close to them both. They’ve both had quite a bit of heartbreak in those years of wild adventure, and if they have faith, he’ll try to have a bit too. <br/><br/>Maybe if he doesn’t get picked this year, he’ll try his luck with the other side of things the next time, he considers. After all, there are plenty of pretty girls, and a few boys, and he doesn’t get to visit other villages often so it would be a good chance to take a shot with someone a bit less familiar… <br/><br/>From behind, he hears a gaggle of girls screech. <br/><br/>The bottom of his stomach drops out. <br/><br/>Already? Surely there wouldn’t be enough time... <br/><br/>He can see Asteria watching the girls over his shoulder, though, and she looks bemused; he takes it as a good sign, and turns just in time to see Libertus, soaked through, pluck one of the girls off her feet and cart her off into the shallows of the river. She shrieks with laughter, each flail and kick splashing them both and making him laugh in turn… <br/><br/>And then they’re gone, wandering off into the woods on the opposite bank, to knowing looks from the adults and intense whispering from the kids in the trees. <br/><br/>Of course, who is he kidding? Even the kids have at least <em> some </em> clue about what’s going on in the woods tonight, and why they’re not allowed out. <br/><br/><em> He </em> certainly had, at least...and he’s got a sneaking suspicion Selena knows <em> exactly </em> what’s going on, clever as always. <br/><br/>Crowe is equally smart, but for some reason, she’s never had any interest in things like festivals -- at least, for anything more than the fire and the food. If she’s ever wondered about the mystery-that-isn’t-a-mystery of what happens in the woods, she certainly hasn’t said anything to him. <br/><br/>He’s not going to get any peace just standing around brooding over it, though, and there’s not much to do at this point. Pelna’s long since figured out he’s not good enough in a kitchen to be of use during a festival, and the adults never let youngsters help out while there’s celebrating to be done (a stark departure from his mother’s attitude on a regular, everyday basis, he can’t help thinking with a bit of bitterness). <br/><br/>The big bonfire, though...there’s a group dancing around it, and it’s an easy thing to join them. <br/><br/>He doesn’t much mind that the bottom foot or so of his trousers are wet; the sun is just setting, dipping behind the trees as the blue of the sky deepens to indigo, but the heat of the fire will dry him quickly. They do stick unpleasantly to his skin as he moves, although that thought doesn’t last long -- as he joins hands with the nearest dancers, pulled into the revelry, all of it falls away. <br/><br/>There’s nothing, for a while -- no worries, no insecurity, no wet trousers. Just the beating of the drum and the clear tone of the flute and a chorus of voices calling the chant back and forth, back and forth, familiar-sounding and timeless as the river itself, and he is <em> flying </em> , riding the high as his feet feel like they touch air more than the cooling soil of the clearing -- <br/><br/>And somehow as he's lost in the rapture of the dance, he’s pulled away, the hands gripping his tugging him out of the winding movements; it’s not until he’s far enough that the air is cool on his skin that he realizes it’s growing dark, the shadows outside of the circle seeming even longer for his inattention. <br/><br/>He looks up to see who’s pulled him away, and finds familiar grey, storm-dark and cloudy in the dim light, as a weight is settled on his head. <br/><br/>One hand reaches up, not quite daring to brush his fingertips over the leaves and half-shed blossoms he knows he’ll find. <br/><br/>When he does finally manage it, he runs his fingers along the stems, feeling for the charms that will tell him… <br/><br/>His breath catches. <br/><br/>Nyx steps closer, holding out a hand. He looks perfect in the firelight, his own tunic long since stripped off, beads of water still dripping from his braids and down his neck. “You want to?” he asks, with a smirk that doesn’t quite cover the nervousness in his eyes. <br/><br/>Pelna wants to kiss him on the spot, grab him by the hair and mash their lips together and -- <br/><br/>It’s only the knowledge that his mother and Asteria are certainly watching them right now that keeps him in check, reaching out to grasp the extended hand instead. <br/><br/>The smirk Nyx wears breaks into a wide grin, toothy and silly and so beautiful it makes Pelna’s heart ache. <br/><br/>He pauses just long enough to stoop and snag the low shoes he’d left by his mother’s chair -- and does <em> not </em> respond to her fond murmur of “be safe, little bird.” Of course he’ll be safe, and she knows that. He’ll be careful, just like he’s been lectured about countless times, and he won’t wander off on his own, and he knows where the lighted paths are anyway. Pelna’s no fool, and he’s not a kid anymore… <br/><br/>The trickle down the back of his neck might be sweat, or it might be lingering water trapped between the stems of the wreath. Either way, the cool touch feels almost like a fingertip trailing over his skin, like an omen of what’s to come. <br/><br/>For all his nerves, this is good. It’s what he wants. He can’t think of anyone he’d rather be doing this with, either. Nyx is one of his best friends, kind and strong and funny, and Pelna trusts him more than almost anyone. He’s been waiting years for this. <br/><br/>No matter how tonight ends, he thinks, it’s worth it. To splash their way across the river together, laughing and flicking drops at each other, to link their arms together as they reach the bank, and when Nyx pulls away, to feel him twine their fingers together instead to tug Pelna along… <br/><br/>As soon as they’re out of sight, he pulls Nyx into the cover of the nearest tree -- it’s broad, and old, and graceful, and he wonders how many other lovers have kissed underneath its gnarled branches -- however many there have been, two more join them. He pushes at Nyx’s shoulders, following as he stumbles on a root and has to catch himself, walking him backward the few short steps until they’re pressed together from chest to hip, noses brushing against each other...and if he thought Nyx looked perfect before, in the faint, flickering torchlight from the path a few yards away, he looks even better. Wild and untamed and <em> hungry, </em> his gaze burning as hot as Pelna feels. <br/><br/>He can’t say which of them moves first, but there are hands on his hips and lips on his, and everything feels <em> amazing </em> , like electricity arcing through him every place their bodies touch. <br/><br/>And if the kiss is messy and clumsy and their teeth clack, and if his hair gets in his face, and if he’s a bit (or <em> extremely </em> ) embarrassed that even this much contact has him achingly hard and wishing he could strip the stupid trousers off now, Pelna doesn’t mind. <br/><br/>One of Nyx’s hands trails along the back of his neck, drawing little patterns with his fingertips in the most agonizingly pleasurable way, and Pelna gasps against his lips and ruts against him and revels in the hardness that presses into his own hip -- “ <em> Six </em> ,” he mutters, and it’s a prayer, a thanksgiving, a confession. <br/><br/>They’re closer to the path than he’d otherwise like, but for the moment, he doesn’t care. If there are footsteps, he doesn't hear them; he’s too busy kissing along the line of Nyx’s shoulder, tasting skin and sweat and drops of river-water, as hands tug at the hem of his tunic. <br/><br/>He pulls it over his head, not bothering to fold it as he drops it heedlessly to the ground. <br/><br/>It will be dirty and it will be rumpled beyond his ability to smooth out in the woods, and Pelna doesn’t care in the slightest. Even the nerves can’t stop him now; no matter how much his hands tremble, he’s not going to give this chance up...and he’s not the only one, that much he’s sure of. Nyx’s lips on his may be eager and firm and confident, but his hands are just as unsteady as Pelna’s as he teases fingers along the waistband of those damn trousers. <br/><br/>Almost before he knows what he’s doing, Pelna steps back, just enough that they’re no longer pressed entirely together. “You okay?” he asks, hoping this doesn’t mean Nyx has changed his mind. He’d never considered what he would do if he got rejected <em> after </em> he’d already gotten his wreath back… <br/><br/>But this is his best friend. If Nyx changed his mind, no matter how much it hurts, Pelna’s going to accept it. <br/><br/>He sighs and drops his eyes to the tangled roots, studying the shadows dancing over them instead. “We don’t have to, if you…” He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, not that it really works. “...if you changed your mind, I mean. We can stop.” <br/><br/>A hand closes on his wrist. <br/><br/>One sharp tug has him stumbling forward into Nyx with an impact that makes both of them groan. <br/><br/>“Ugh...shit, I should’ve thought that through…” Nyx grumbles the words in his ear, but there’s a hint of a smile in the sound. <br/><br/>He tilts his head back and presses a kiss to the edge of Nyx’s jaw -- just a little, experimental touch, but one that earns him a warm, broad palm pressed to his back, the other cupping his face and guiding him into another kiss. This time, it’s tender in a way that leaves him weak and boneless; he winds his arms around Nyx’s neck and melts into the kiss, and as they sink to the ground in the embrace of the age-old tree's roots, all Pelna can think is that it’s worth it. Whatever comes of it. Even if it’s one night, and that’s all it is forever, tonight is worth it. <br/><br/>Tonight he’s wanted in return. <br/><br/>It’s everything he’d dreamed of.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are with more PF content! Chapter 11 of Returning the Favor is nearly done and might be live today, thanks to some advice from Kaie.</p><p>In the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed these adorable bois. :)</p><p>Thank you to everyone who reads, and especially to those who leave kudos and comments. &lt;3 It really does mean the world to me.</p><p>(Title taken from the song "How Sweet it is to be Loved by You")</p></blockquote></div></div>
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